Peter had just finished explaining his story to the guards, the failed attack, the retreat and his plan for betrayel, when Fliss stirred awake. It was almost unnoticeable but because of his good ears he could make out her stirring awake behind him.

‘He’s a boy, he’ll tell me otherwise’ one side of him thought, while the other said. ‘Yeah right, ha, keep telling yourself that. Maybe then you can keep that friendship he ruined, hmm?’

He shook away his internal struggle and approached the resting bodies. Brair immediately awoke as he knelt beside her and without a word sat up, using his knee for support.

*Cough*Cough* “Go easy on him,” she said.

“You go easy,” Peter sighed. “Sorry, are you alright? That cough wasn’t a first…and those wounds-”

“Peter I’m fine,” Brair said. “I’d much rather have you begin fortifying this place than worry about me, or her.”

“Him, and I won’t start unless I know who I should to trust,” He said. That earned him a lazy punch from Brair.

“Who I should trust? This is Fliss we’re talking about here*Cough*yo-you’re more trusting of him than*Cough*Cough*”

“Hey, hey, take it easy,” Peter said as slowly pulled her closer to his chest. “C’mon Brair,” he tried being lighthearted. “I don’t need you dying from some small cough now.”

-than me.” She finished.

“Alright, I won’t blow up when he wakes, okay?” Peter said. “Just…don’t do that, alright. Not now, I’ve a promise to keep.”

“Yeah, that promise,” she scoffed.

“Hey,” Peter grabbed her chin and pulled to face him when she pulled away.

“Rose,” Peter tried again, lighting guiding her chin to face him. “The promise was that you will be another chance, it’s not only your body I’m after. It’s you, all of you.”

She finally met his eyes and held her gaze, even the darkness he could clearly make out those hazel eyes.

‘She’s hesitating?’ he thought. ‘Come on Pete, don’t fuck this up now.’

He leaned so close he could kiss her, her lips were really inviting. But instead he pressed his lips against her forehead. He reveled in delight as he saw her frown melt into a pleasant surprise. She turned around and he let her lie back down.

After that, a deafening silence descended upon them and they continued staring at Fliss; the young kid, whom Peter had known for the best parts of his life, slowly came out of unconsciousness. His eyes fluttered open and a painful realization struck Peter. Fliss had lied.

The first thing that he saw wasn’t relief in his face, but rather an acute fear that he she tried masking. Perhaps it was his scowl or the feeling of ripped clothes, indicating that her secrets were revealed or perhaps he remembered how Peter treated his ‘wound’, but he didn’t look happy and his hesitation only solidified the grim truth.

“What’s with that?” Peter smiled ruefully, trying not a yell. But he knew it was gonna come soon, his anger was rising too fast for him to contain it. “Not happy to see me?”

“Peter, I-”

“It’s okay,” Peter motioned with his hands. “I realize now that this is just how its supposed ta’ work. I save you, you save me. I share my meals, you share your meals. I give you my blankets, you give me yours. I share my secrets…but you hide them…for five. Fuckin’. years.”

Fliss stayed quite, fighting back tears.

“Where’s the little boy Volvo came back with? Where’s the kid we took in and grew up with? Where’s that brat who always played with me in the taverns and shops, Huh?” Peter asked. “Where’re you hiding him, oh, no, no. You were hiding this behind him, my little brother is apparently a stranger.”

“Peter,” Brair warned. As if just realizing she was there Fliss quickly sat up and looked at them both. Peter ignored both of them and eased Brair off his leg.

“She is a liar, Brair. She’s lied to me about who and what she, he or it is.” He pointed with both his hands in emphasis, his anger apparent by his rising voice. He walked circles in his spot, murmuring to himself before finally squatting to meet Fliss in the face. Tear line had wet her cheeks as she tried containing the sobs.

“Tell me,” Peter sighed. He scratched his head in frustration, which led to further frustration as the hair got in his eyes. Pushing them back he asked; “When Volvo supposedly saved you from a goblin attack on your village did he save a boy or a girl?”

“…” Fliss gulped. She licked her lips before she answered; “A-a girl. Volvo knew back-”

“Oh great, just another one of his ‘plans’,”Peter said exasperatedly. “What’re you guys lookin’ at? Go back to your crying, ain’t none of them coming back ya hear.”

Peter shouted at the onlooking women and children while ignoring the glares from the surrounding guards.

“So Volvo sent me and you off fighting to probably die and probably has been down in the dirty; kissing the dukes jewels,” Peter spat. “And this still isn’t his biggest secret! He’s done it again, lied to me and Luv’ for five years.”

“It-it’s not all his fault,” Fliss spoke up. Overcoming her fear with a growing she waveringly stood up. “Why do you think he lied? ‘Girls would ruin our team so we should keep it all men’. Volvo had no choice but to hide it, he was ready to accept me, you weren’t.”

Peter squared her off and spat at her feet, but she didn’t back off. There were a million things he could’ve said to hurt her, just like she’d hurt him, but none could make it from his mind to his mouth. He pressed his lips together as he watched tears roll down Fliss’s face. He should’ve enjoyed it, she hurt him, but he felt a pang of pain in him as he watched her fight the tears. He turned away as he felt his own vision blur and walked away.

“When you’re ready meet me in the house,” he said. “And Brair…help her cover up.”

Peter quickly jogged up the steps and as he entered, wiped those stinging tears. Letting out a tired sigh he turned to the long corridor and slowly walked down the red carpet. The walls had the insignia of the von Solus family painted in neat patterns, mixing in with the occasional door frame to not seem chopped off. He could see the staff of the manor warily inspect him from the comfort of their hiding places behind jarred doors and he was not in a good mood.

“Hey cowards,” Peter scoffed. “Get out there and check on the injured out there before I beat you outta here.”

When no one moved; hoping to keep the illusion of their invisibility despite it being already broken, Peter smiled. His mind raced with what he could do to vent his anger at this given opportunity.

“Best do as he says everyone,” a man called out from behind him. Peter turned to see the butler standing at the end of the hallway. As per his instructions the people began moving out from behind the rooms lined at his side and filed through the hallway with wrappings or pails of water. Once they had exited through the front door Peter resumed his walk towards a certain door. He entered and quickly set to looking around the large center table, inside the cabinets on the sides, underneath he chair, carpet and everywhere he could reach a candle light.

“Don’t tell me these old men had no map or plan drawn out?” Peter murmured to himself as he checked drawers. “I know they’re not that stupid.”

*Cough*Cough*“Sir?”

“What do you want butler?” Peter asked, without looking back.

“There’s…I believe there is something you need to see, sir.”

“Hm,” Peter suddenly stopped, turning towards the man in the doorway he gave him a once over. His eyes were slightly sunken and beads of sweat were rolling down his forehead, getting caught in his large beard below. “What is it?”

“It is a letter, from your companion.” He said reaching into his coat and bringing out a folded piece of paper.

“How do you know it’s from my companion?” Peter asked skeptically reaching for his sword. “For all I know you could’ve written it yourself and are trying to stop me from finding the-what I’m looking for.”

“Now sir, let’s be reasonable. Why would I do such a-”

“Exactly,” Peter shouted as he walked closer. “Why would I? That’s what I’m thinking about right now. Why would they do what they’ve done so far? Why would the duke leave all his subjects to die and handpick only a few to lead and command instead of sending for reinforcements and wait it out? Why would Volvo send us to die because of simple mistake? What’s everyone hiding? I’ve thought and thought of it till now and you know what? I’ve stopped caring, so get the fuck out of here and do something good like helping the wounded instead of wasting my time.”

“Sir, I may not understand your problems but If I can-”

“No you cannot help,” Peter took out his sword and growled. But he didn’t step forward, instead he shook his head and slapped himself a few times before shouting in anger. What he was about to do was wrong, he knew that and he needed to stop, so he continued shouting off on the adrenaline until it was all used up. When he was done he reluctantly sheathed his sword but hissed;“I told you to get out of here, so get the fuck-”

“It has a name!” the butler shouted, stopping Peter in his tracks. “I do not know of your friends name but no mercenary or commoner in this city would have such writing skill as shown on this parchment. It came from one of the traveling mercenaries and no one has been closer to your group than that woman in the hood. She addresses it to ‘Volvo’s group’-”

“Ugh, stop.” Peter said. He rubbed his eyes in frustration before running his hands through his hair. “The way you speak is giving me a headache. Just hand it over and stand over there like a good man maid.”

The butler handed him the parchment and followed his instructions without any emotion. Peter’s eyes wizzed through the parchment reading at a surprising speed. One of the advantages of being with Luvrit most his life was that he was forced to learn how to read and write. Due to his friend’s passion of copying the speech and aura of a noble he was exposed at length to his studies and had picked up quite a few things during the days they spent cooped up in a room due to their illnesses.

“Hah, shit,” Peter exhaled in defeat. Taking a few moments to compose himself he spoke again; “Take me to your treasury.”

“Hmmm,” The butler’s eyes bulged at his absurd request. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, take me to your treasury. Where you keep all your goods.”

“Sir, I-I can’t. I do not have the authority to. Arhm, I still have a duty to my lord after all.”

“If this is right, then your lord’s a madman and apparently the maker of this crisis. All those dead people outside are on him and many more are gonna follow if I don’t do something. Do you want your loved one’s to die like the rest of them?”

“…” The butler hesitated. Peter could see his brain working behind that skull, checking to see if he actually did tell the truth. After some time he said; “Please follow me.”

Peter followed the man down the hall and behind the stairs where a small metal door stood hidden in the darkness of the shadow casted by the stairwell and the adjacent wall. The butler searched his attire for a moment before concluding to not have the key on him.

Peter waved him off with a warning and decided to rest. He leaned against the wall and stretchd for a moment before Fliss’s figure came into view. She cautiously walked over to the side of the steps, opposite him, searching for him. When she next came into view he could see that her robe had been patched up and she was visibly looking better than before.

“Down here,” he said lazily before she could climb the staircase.

“Oh,” Fliss changed her course and came to stand near the base railing, just a few meters away. She fidgeted her feet as she gathered her courage; “Peter…I know this is too late but I want to say that I’m sorry for lying to you for all these years. I-”

“There’s that girlish voice,” Peter ruefully smiled. “How did you hide that voice for soo long girl?”

“I…I had practiced with Volvo that one time he took me to learn how to collect the right herbs.”

“Funny thing now that I think about it, girl. You didn’t speak before that, right? He took you alone that time, yeah and here the ignorant me thought he was gonna have the talk with you,” Peter laughed. “I guess being a girl has its difficulties right? Especially one who was being forced to live in a man’s team. Right girl?”

“Please stop calling me that,” Fliss said but Peter ignored her and continued. He was regaining some of that lost anger and he wanted nothing but to push out all he could before he felt sick of those feelings.

“But you could’ve left the team, right?” Peter waved his hands as matter-of-factly. “I mean there were other mix groups in the city, right? He must’ve given you a chance, but you didn’t take it…why didn’t you take it? Why did you keep lying to us girl? Huh? Com’on Speak-”

“My name’s not girl!” Fliss shouted in a fit. “It’s Fliss.”

“No it’s not!” Peter yelled back with greater force. “Fliss was my brother, not some liar who’s standing in front of me. Fliss was the boy, so what you I call you? A liar? Why not what you are, huh girl? ”

“…You’re right, I have lied,” Fliss said sadly. “I shortened my name to Fliss and have been using that for the last 5 years but I am as much of a Fliss as I am Flecity.”

“Flecity the liar, Ain’t that the truth.” Peter said with a scowl. His adrenaline had run out, his heart was calming down and he was starting to feel the hollow-ness of it all. He despised it.

“Excuse me, mercenaries,” a voice came from the stairs. The butler was making his way down the stairs them with a key in hand and behind him was probably the longest and skinniest woman Peter had ever seen. She wore a long black maid’s outfit with a large, tightly binding strap around her waist that wasn’t doing her form any favors.

“Here’s the key,” He held it up pas he walked past them to open the lock. “Some light, my dear.”

The woman hastily walked around the mercenaries and lit the lamp she was carrying, casting shadows everywhere. If the butler wasn’t so comfortable around her Peter would’ve actually believed her to be a real undead under disguise.

‘If she smiles…’ Peter’s hand unconsciously went to his sword.

“There was something similar on the other side, too” Flecity murmured to herself.

“That would be trap, please refrain from touching that.” The butler calmly replied. The click of the lock resounded and the door creaked open. Taking the lantern from her he asked; “Wait for us out here, dear.”

“No need for that. Flecity will keep look out, at least she can protect herself.” Peter spoke up, nodding to her.

“I-I’ve had much too excitement for today.” The woman spoke shyly. “I would like to accompany her if possible.”

“Sir, please. She’s not well, let her rest.”

“No, she will not have her way just because…whatever, got that? Bending to their will hardly get’s you anywhere,” He sent a scowl to Flecity before resuming; “I’m too tired to be the good guy now *Shling* so if you don’t mind, I’d like to see you two down those steps before me. And don’t think about fighting, I’m still confident I can still take you both if you turn on me like her.”

“...well then, we should be going then.” The butler took the lead, closely followed by the maid. Peter felt a nagging at his heart as he looked at Flecity turn to guard without a word, so before he joined them he tried appeasing it; “Don’t die, woman.”

Peter sheathed his sword and joined the staff before anything could be said. He was led down a small spiraling stairway in silence. The butler began explaining how to avoid another set of traps lining the wall beside him. Upon hearing this; the maid almost threw herself against the pole holding the stairs, that situation took another minutes to diffuse.

“This place is cramped,” he remarked.

“..So the wealth cannot be stolen all at once.” The butler hesitated. He seemed to be gathering his courage for something.

“What d’you want?” Peter said exasperated.

“If I may be so bold sir, I believe your argument with the young maiden is futile.”

“…You got some guts…Who’re you again?”

“My name is Bertrand and she is Mathilda.”

“Hello,” Mathilda greeted.

“And what’d you want to tell me again?”

“*Sigh* Sir, you argue under the pretense of anger and hatred, yet still speak with care to her.”

“One little comment to appease her, to make sure she doesn’t run isn’t speaking with care to her,” Peter scoffed. “Besides, that’s between me and her, you have no business interfering.”

“Then, perhaps, you shouldn’t direct the anger you have for her at my wife. It really sends the wrong message.”

“And what would that be?”

“A cry for help, to simply speak. You are confused over what you’re feeling; betrayal and love always brew the worst of confusions in one’s mind, after all.”

“Just keep walking,” Peter frowned, “don’t need you falling cause your talking to me.”

They reached the bottom of the step and Peter had just reached the last step when Bertrand spoke;

“Dear, can you give a few minutes?”

“O-okay,” she hastily walked away as he blocked his path. The doorway was so small that Peter couldn’t see anything beyond the small spaces between Bertrand and the stone frame.

“What do we have here…?” Peter gripped one of his daggers.

“Sorry if it seemed rude of me to intrude but as a man and a husband I had to show that I can still protect her wishes, no matter how false the pretense might be.” He whispered. Peter gave him an odd look and asked what immediately came to his mind.

‘Ugh, they’re so nice I can’t even find an excuse to beat them up.’Peter thought.

“Why? Ain’t she sickly?” he asked.

“Sir,” Bertrand smiled slightly. “No matter how much trouble she may bring with her I know that she is the only other person whom I can trust without fail hence she is my wife…and trust…that is a very important these days.”

‘…I don’t think we’ve talking about her anymore?’

“What if she lies to you? Huh? What if she betrays that trust?”

“I may never forget, but I can certainly forgive her mistakes,”

“But what if she does something too horrible to forgive?” Peter pushed.

“I’m sure she would have a good reason,” Bertrand’s smile wavered. He stepped aside and let Peter through. “But…in the unlikely situation where I find myself torn up because of her lies and betrayal…I shall claim fault for choosing wrong and, taking my belonging with me, leave in search for someone else to share my trust with.”

“Heh, what if you find a man?” Peter joked as he began walking beside the butler.

“Then it shall be a man I share my trust.”

“…You….your a-”

“Dear god, No!” Bertrand exclaimed, seemingly aghast. Mathilda turned from where she was checking a few chests in the large room but another look from him kept her from interrupting. “Nothing to worry about, my dear” then in a quite voice he replied, “Sir…I can trust whomever I find worthy but…the carnal desires will can always be pleased by the another…uh, someone more appropriate.”

“hehe, alright thanks for the laugh,” Peter smirked. “Alright, i’ll try not to lash out anymore. Mathilda! Get over here.”

“Yes, sir,”

“Uh,” He sent a sideway’s glance at Bertrand who stared back with his poker face, “How’re ya feelin’ right now?”

“I-I’m fine sir”

“Good, good…Listen, if you wanna go up now you can, only yer husband needs to be here.”

“I-I would prefer his company, sir.”

“Okay, now you two go over there and wait for my return,” Peter explained. “I won’t steal anything but I need my space.”

“Yes sir….Bobolyne,” Mathilda mumbled as she leaned against her husband.

“I heard that,” Peter warned already searching the chests in near the small braziers, lit with the fire from the lamp.

“The fustilarian spoke to me sire. Please do not mind.” Bertrand spoke up.

‘I can’t tell if he was talking about me or her,’ Peter frowned as he looked at the work before him. ‘Well, if you gotta lose yourself in something it’s better for it to be work than the thoughts in your idle mind.’

The teasure room was filled with dusty chests and old crates of different sizes. Sets of braziers holding metal bowls, some of which were already lit, aligned either side of the walls. Setting the room in a eery orange glow.

Peter used his dagger to nitpick the locks before forcefully breaking them with kicks. All of them.

‘He didn’t mean her!’ realization suddenly struck. ‘You fop! Heh, he’s not the only one privy to a noble’s insults. Ah, there you are.’

Atop a few books in a chest was a large wooden box with etched designs and the symbol of the von Solus family in the middle. Pulling it out he broke the lock and revealed a bundle of scrolls neatly placed within. Peter took the one sealed with a blue wax and left the rest back.

“Only got one, see,” he held it up as he started walking back, blowing out the fires along the way. “…How, did you know of these?” Bertrand asked, warily.

“Relax butler, Volvo told me.” Peter said as he shuffled through them. “He received a scroll from the duke for one of our long quests for him. He had said that it came from a hidden treasury and since that box looks like the one he got it in, I took a guess. It’s a flying scroll if I’m not mistaken. What’s it called?…vernas or something?”

He stored the parchment in his clothes and followed Bertrand up. and Mathilda followed after Peter, sandwhiching him in the stairs. ‘Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea…’When they were in the middle of the stairs Bertrand suddenly stopped, causing Peter to press a dagger against his back.

“Bertrand!” Mathilda shouted.

“Why’d you stop?” Peter asked quietly.

“I…*gulp* I want to make sure that once you have used it you will come back to pay it off under his lordship’s service,” beads of sweat rolled down his face. “I want your word.”

“The word of a bastard?” Peter laughed. “Sure, why not. Once I use it up I’ll repay it right after. Now move!”

Peter shoved Bertrand forward and they continued up once more. Flecity was leaning against the stairs when they arrived but befre she could say anything Peter threw her the scroll and took her aside.

*Sigh*“Listen, I’m still realy mad at what you did,” Peter said, “But right now I need your help activating this thing. From now on, until this thing is over I’ll stop. But you got a lot to answer for once we’re done. To me and Luvrit.”

“Alright, I’m really sorr-,”

“Uh-uh, Not now…and not like this,” Peter frowned, running his hands through his hair.

“Yeah, okay. So what are we gonna do?”

“I have a plan.”

He explained to her his plan while showing her the letter Bertrand had found.

“What about the rest?” Flecity asked, having finished reading.

“Once reinforcements arrive they’ll be taken care of,” Peter said, staring at the designs on the windows. “If the letter is right then this might’ve been all a trap from the begining, we’re puppets in that madman’s game. They don’t realize it but i do, it was stupid to go against these things without any reinforcements.”

“Yeah but how are you going to get them to believe you? You look like a mercenary not a messenger,” Flecity asked.

“I thought I might chip out that thing for proof,” Peter pointed at the wall with that family symbol painted on it.

“Mercenaries, please don’t make more of a mess here,” Bertrand stepped in. “If you require identification of your authenticity then please take this letter for your meeting.”

Bertrand took a letter Mathilda handed him and presented it to Peter and Flecity who looked it with confusion.

“It is a cry for help, in layman’s terms. The duchess wrote it to her brother, the Earl of Sassaugh.”

“Why didn’t you send a messanger?” Peter shouted, snatching the letter from him.

“…It was the young lady that was meant to leave,” Bertrand spoke slowly. His face contorted in a worrisome expression and he licked his lips. “Right now she is missing, presumed to have joined the fight with Miss Natravi.”

“What!?” Both Peter and Fliss shouted in unison.

“AAAAHHHH,”

Their heads whipped to the noises coming from outside. Peter shoved the letter alongside his scroll and ran out the door, followed by the others. When he opened the door and came up to the scene he almost fell to his knees in despair.

The wounded who’d been lying in a vegetative state for the past half-hour were now running around. To an onlooker it looked as if the help from the house staff had allowed them to climb out into the world of the living once more and were just jittery from the happiness of being alive. The fog hid well, but Peter could see. He could see the black blood running down their mouths, their veins popping out to disproportionate levels and pieces of flesh of the staff hanging from their hands.

The survivors who hadn’t turned were running, but due to their excitement, most had fallen over themselves and were caught between the teeth of their attackers. Crunching sounds following by the thumping sounds of bodies falling kept ringing in his ears. Bodies covered in white linen, wrapped in blankets or sheets and clad in silver armor were the only ones lying on the ground. Peter could see that those who had become undead were the last batch of survivors…amongst which had been Brair.

Peter’s eyes quickly darted around to look for his friend and soon found the familiar form of her red hair. She was hunched over another survivor, the old woman that had been supporting her. Amongst all the chaos it seemed that all the undead avoided those two in the middle, that’s when Peter found the reason. As if she had eyes in the back of her head, Brair turned around to show her face.

Brair had bitemarks on her shaking forearms and a large chunk of meat missing from her left shoulder. Her skin was paler under the moonlight and she was in the middle of the fight, a fight which the undead were winning. She had gone over to the winning side and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“No”